


The Bonds that Define Us

by Soul_Captain



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 17:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11833677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul_Captain/pseuds/Soul_Captain
Summary: The date was January 31st, 2009. There, atop a celestial tower, stood twelve silhouettes, almost invisible against the blinding light of the moon. That night, one man prevented a fate that had been predestined by the Gods; it was a fate previously thought to be unpreventable. The part of the story that nobody knows, however, is that he was not alone that night, nor were his ten comrades. He Sealed away the greatest power known to man with the strength of his relationships. The bonds he had forged in the short months he had spent on the planet, and the lives he had touched in the process.We are told the story from His perspective. But what about that of those that gave him the power of the Universe? Where were they, on that fateful night? How had he changed them, and why did they choose to give him the strength?Only Time knows the Answer, and only Time will tell it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone. As you have likely gathered by now, this is my first piece of fanfiction, and it is indeed incomplete. I can't promise a date to it's completion, nor can I promise a date to which I will add to it. I hope you can understand that and will read it anyways, and I thank you for doing so. I'm going to try to add to this as fast as I can, but since there's no continuity in between chapters I don't think I'll leave anyone suffering from "Exteme Suspense Syndrome" or something of the sort. I know the writing isn't as seasoned as most of the pieces in this archive, and I hope that with your feedback I can continue to make it better and better. 
> 
> What follows is a lengthy introduction that will provide context to what you're about to read. I'm not a very concise person, so excuse me if you find this boring and just want to jump right in. I simply want to avoid the prospect of people being extremely confused just because I wasn't smart enough to make a proper introduction. And also, before we go on any further, since this work deals with the last playable day of Persona 3, there are indeed spoilers. Continue at your own risk.
> 
> I am new to Persona 3, and the Persona series in general. I was introduced to it by some friends and Persona 3 was my first game from the MegaTen series. To be blunt, it changed my life- or rather, how I looked at my own life. As I reached the end of the game, everything just...clicked, and I was left with an important message that I hope I can convey to you here. When I finished the game, I realized that Atlus, in all their perfection and glory, had failed to address the backbone of the game during it's final moments, and I'm referring to the social links that Minato makes. I was piqued with curiosity as to what happened to some of my favorite characters in the game: Did they change at all, after meeting the Protagonist? Each person has a different way of showing their gratitude, so how did each of those characters show theirs to the most powerful man in the Universe?
> 
> What follows is my answer to this question as it relates to certain key characters. I won't be writing about them all-some are too shallow for me to work a story out of (I'm looking at you, Gourmet King), but I will try to cover as many of the interesting ones as I can. I won't be covering S.E.E.S members either, considering that they are battling Nyx during the events of this story. The character list is incomplete as I haven't yet decided whether I will or will not be writing for certain characters. I have already decided that a (yet to be written) chapter detailing Akinari's death and admittance to the heavens will be the concluding chapter.
> 
> If you have survived this lengthy introduction, I thank you very much for choosing to take a chance by reading this work. Please take the time to leave feedback (positive is appreciated, though I'm used to being bashed as well) and I will be eternally grateful.
> 
> One final note that I think is important: Part V (or Chapter 6-since I'm starting at Part 0, everything is shifted up one number) is not meant to be "smut," "pornographic," or any other word that describes crudely written works intended solely for sexual gratification. Kenji is an interesting character in the game, and though it is an awkward take, Part V is my interpretation of how he would ponder over all the things Minato has done for him. It contains some edgy scenes that one might consider obscene (spoiler: it contains sexual self-stimulation in the first few paragraphs), and if this bothers you, just skip it. I'm not tacking a warning onto this solely because of one offbeat chapter.
> 
> And without further ado...

0.

Time: ???

Let me ask you something. Have you ever felt scared? Felt frightened out of your mind, whether it was fear of loss, something material, or another person?

Have you ever felt trapped? Trapped inside of the walls of your own mind, inside a deep, dark pit with no escape, clawing your fingers into the side, desperate for the airs of freedom?

Have you ever felt anxious, or distressed, in anticipation of an event which you have been dreading for years, only to realize that you are minutes away from facing it?

Have you ever felt bored? Bored out of your mind, to the point where your brain is feeding itself by consuming the rest of your body? Bored until you are forced to drive a drill through your head to end the chorus of voices singing “Hallelujah” inside those walls?

Have you ever felt sorrow? And I’m referring to pure sorrow, not simply the lack of satiation or satisfaction. Sorrow for another person, sorrow for yourself, sorrow that threatens to push the contents of your stomach out from their recesses and out through your constricted, noose-like, esophagus?

Have you ever felt hopeless, stressed to the point where all has been lost, and you cannot stand to push yourself forward any longer? Hopeless to the point where you would abandon your fellow soldiers on the battlefield you call life just to see what lies on the other side?

In front of me that night was a man who seemingly felt none of these things.

Actually, “man” would be entirely too wrong of a description for him. He was a boy, just shy of six feet tall, and I remember him like he had just visited me yesterday.

He stood there in front of me, on a large, black pedestal. In his hand was a shortsword that seemed to glow with light as if it drew energy from the sun itself. The metallic guard for the young fellow’s hand was secured by metallic feathers. The weapon looked…celestial, almost. As if it was not of this world.

When he first arrived, his eves darted around my house in a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and lack of understanding. Not too far off from how most people react when they see me, or I invite them into my home.

But as I said before, this boy was entirely different. He stood there, silently waiting, as if he wanted me to make the first move. Etched into his stoic face was a line right above the chin, that slowly formed a grimace whose meaning I simply could not make out. He stood there, casually, eyes searching for some sense of familiarity to grasp onto.

He had a pair of headphones covering his ears, and I could hear the classical jazz that poured out of them. In the silence of Space, each note was like a chocolate bar in the hands of an inquisitive child; one minute it was there, and the next, it was gone.

A shock of blue hair hid his eyes from my view. Slowly, I began to recognize him. This wasn’t the first time we had met. We had briefly touched hands once, long ago. He was…an old friend. Or a foe, in this case. But what was the difference?

Most people whom I invite to my house do not react in this manner. When I tell them that their time is nearing, most respond with fear, anxiety, and tears. Some of them beg me for more time, to sort everything in order and clear their schedules so they can make time for me. Others of them immediately search for some sort of escape, as if they have known that they would be invited at some point in their lives but are too content with their own domains to take a peek at mine. Like schoolteachers when they are assigned jury duty.

Recently, however, more and more of you are coming up to my home uninvited. Some of you are very gracious people, and offer another person a chance to meet me. They make the offer in multiple ways. Sometimes it’s a shot through the temple, sometimes a knife to the back, sometimes the shrapnel of a grenade, sometimes a bag over the mouth. Sometimes, it’s cyanide pills in a mixed drink, and occasionally (this is one of the oddest for me) a rod through the uterus. Take your pick, because I guarantee you, I have seen them all at one point in my life.

Others of you decide that you want to have a look at me a little earlier. I can’t tell if it’s because you want to be my friend, or because you’re just fed up with your ordinary life. Most of the people who try to purchase a ticket in advance (“the earlybirds,” I call them) seem to prefer drawing on their arms with razors. Some of the pictures they paint are fascinating. It’s too bad that they are painted with blood. A shame, really. They could have been wonderful artists if they had given themselves a chance.

It’s quiet, and lonely up here in my home. Most people that enter my house are paralyzed in fear. Something about me seems to shock them. I have always been an outcast.

“Who am I?” I can hear you wondering that in your head. It’s in human nature, after all, to be inquisitive.

Some choose to associate me with Evil, but in truth, I am beyond such human philosophical constraints as Good and Evil. In a way, I feel that philosophy is like an opiate, a sedative, that blurs the focus of everything in their lives and stratifies them into two categories. Prevents people from looking beyond.

Actually, I am an idea. A concept. But also, a celestial being, a God (to some), occasionally an earthly being, and an overseer. I am a gatekeeper, a conduit, a clairvoyant, a reaper, an enemy, but truly an eternal friend. I am a compendium, an oraculum, a dictionary, an encyclopedia, an atlas, a Bible. A statement and a command. A question and an answer. A beginning and an end. An end to a beginning, but just as much a beginning to an end. Though, in my opinion, human constructs like Beginning and End cannot hold me.

I have many names, too. Would you like to hear them? Chances are, you have called me by one of my names before.

The more stupid of you refer to me as “Satan,” or “Lucifer.”

“Unfortunately,” as I tell all those who call me this in my home, “You have reached the wrong address. Either that, or you have just been referring to me the wrong way all your life. If you’re looking the Devil, I assure you, this is not him.”

“You could be delivered to the Devil that your religion dictates after I’m done with you. But that choice isn’t in my hands. I’ve never been a man of Judgment.”

Others of you (the more perceptive of you, apparently) call me bluntly by my accepted name. Death. The ultimate end. Some of you even worship me, but I can’t say that I’ve liked worshippers very much. They creep me out. How would you feel if you had a group of people who bowed down to you every day?

And then there’s the prodigies among you who realize my final form. I am also called Time.

Who said that Time and Death were different? I would say that Death defines time. People live their lives knowing that they will end with death. They created units of time to represent how much time they have left until they pay me a visit. They space out their lives, set goals for themselves, because they know they have a limited, finite amount of time on this Earth. Answer me this: If you could live forever, would Time exist any longer?

The boy in front of me had clearly accepted this that day. Fear didn’t influence his decisions. He wasn’t afraid to jump. And that’s how he had gotten here in the first place. He had jumped, and floated.

He has strength in him, both from within, and from other sources. Like a conduit. I can feel the voices echoing through out my domain. The voices of those within him. He seems like one man, but really, he is more. I know what I must do. It is part of my job, as a Reaper. I have done it since before the Earth existed, but for the first time, I am forced to hesitate.

Because for the first time, I am not sure if I will win.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Introduction

 I. Introduction

Time: 12:59 AM?

“And then there was nothing. It was all eroded from existence, like sand washing off the shore and tumbling into the tumultuous waves of the sea. Every thought, every memory, every instance-wiped off of the Earth in one fluid motion, like the hand of God drifting across the entirety of the world.”

As he finished his last sentence, Jin Sakura leaned back into his plush leather seat and smiled with pure corporate joy. As he typed the final words of his article onto the document, a panic was gripping the billions of residents who called the earth home.

Reports on what was actually going on were conflicting. Joe Hanlen from CNN claimed that a large, alabaster UFO had blanketed the skies of the Milky Way, and threatened to destroy the world as they knew it. Pierre DuPont from The French Times called it “a Death Star, like something out of a Star Wars movie.” Italia Vittoriana from Rome took a more tacit approach to the disastrous event. According to her recently published article “Gli Esseri Della Notte,” the moon had enlarged to twice its size, and was slowly accelerating toward Earth at a frightening rate. Whatever the event really was, the one thing that all of the reports could agree upon was that the event was focusing itself upon the Japanese city of Iwatodai.

Sakura was a respected name in the Japanese news, and he wasn’t about to risk his moniker chasing shadows that nobody could agree upon. Hell, he hadn’t even thrown open the curtains and seen for himself what was really going on outside. He didn’t care; the only logical way he stood to profit from this event was to approach it from an ontological perspective.

A few weeks before the event, reports started originating from Port Island that a man named Takaya Sakaki was leading a group of cultists that believed that the world itself was coming to an end. Sakaki described the event as something tantamount to Judgement Day and Atonement, as opposed to complete Apocalypse. This had given Jin an idea. At around 12 o clock at night on January 31, 2009, he began working on a headline piece tying Sakaki’s theories with the event going on outside. And he was just about wrapping up.

“Sakura!” The grisly, stress-coated voice of President Hayase sounded through the empty hallways (all of the other journalists, being the cowards they were, had either fled for their families or had joined the mad cultists that were apparently roaming the streets. Hayase knew that Sakura was the only employee in all of mainland Japan that he could trust, and he had received an instant promotion to Chief Senior Executive).

The President neared closer to Sakura’s desk. “You told me that you were working on something groundbreaking-something that could tear apart the news industry as we know it, and I pull up the document just to see some shit I could’ve learned in Bible study? I hope you realize that your pay grade is on the line here.”

“Of course I do, Boss,” came Sakura’s curt reply. “It’s the reason I’m here, after all.”

“You’re here to report the news. Last I checked, the news at hand concerns the giant white orb flying perilously close to our planet. So, enlighten me-how do you plan to write a Pulitzer winner regarding an event that you haven’t even seen yet?”

“You of all people should know, Hayase: seeing rarely ever gives us the whole picture”

The President opened his mouth to retort, but soon found that he had nothing to say.

Sakura continued: “Remember the reports that we were getting out of Iwatodai at the beginning of this year?”

“You mean the nihilist trash? I thought that was old news. Don’t you have better stuff to do than rustle through the garb-“

“Hear me out. I think there’s a link between the two stories. Sakaki’s personality cult has expanded far past the bounds of Port Island, right? That means the people on the streets right now could be believing the shit he was spouting. About atonement an all. Tell me something, sir-have any of the news stations actually put a man on Iwatodai, or at least recorded what’s going on down there?”

“Well…not to my knowledge, no. I’m sure you’re aware that the Kirijo Group basically owns-“

“And you don’t find that at all suspicious? That an island owned by the most powerful business conglomerate in the world suddenly falls into a cult mentality and becomes the geographic focus for the biggest anomaly in the galaxy since Planet X? And I assume you are purposely choosing to overlook the fact that Iwatodai is no less than 200 miles from here.”

Hayase saw where Jin was going with this. “So, you’re suggesting some form of neo-corporate espionage then? That Kirijo has been funneling his funds into supernatural research? That they’re responsible for what’s happening out there?”

“Sir, this is miles of ahead of what’s happening out there. Two months ago, Kirijo Group president Takeharu Kirijo was found dead under mysterious circumstances on Iwatodai island. His daughter took over the company and pulled some strings to make sure that none of us found out what really happened that night. As it so happens, Gekkoukan high school, the only high school operating out of the island, saw its headmaster go missing that same night, again under mysterious circumstances. Headmaster Ikutsuki was an ally of the Kirijo Group as well. Doesn’t this sound suspicious to you?”

Hayase mused to himself quietly. Though he was disgruntled at Jin’s passive nature and meticulous oversight, he had to admit that, invariably, those were the exact reasons why he was hired to Nippon News Media, and why he climbed the ranks faster than Hayase himself in a matter of months. If there really was a link between the largest business conglomerate in East Asia and the end-of-world scenario playing out in the streets, then Nippon would be the first to cover it.”

“Continue following up on Sakaki and Iwatodai. And while you’re at it, go back and look into that accident that happened at the Kirijo laboratory in Port Island back in ’02. I’m sensing a major connection here that we both know cannot go unexplored.”

“I’m already on it, sir, and I guarantee results by the hour. And please, sir, try to relax. If this is really the end of the world going on outside, you should be happy for it. After all, what better an escape is there than Death? What with the current state of affairs, I would definitely consider it favorable to jumping back onto the corporate ladder.”

Hayase was staring back, clearly at a loss for words. Nihilism was nobody’s favorite subject, but for some reason, no one could bring themselves to dispute it.

“After all, sir, we will all be delivered to the same end eventually.”

 

 


	3. Law and Order

 

II. Law and Order

Time: 12:30 AM

Meanwhile, in the middle of Paulownia Mall, Port Island, Officer (soon to be “Detective”) Kurosawa stood at his police desk, shuffling through a stack of reports, complaints, and a potpourri of miscellaneous problems that the citizens of Iwatodai believed could only be solved by the decorated Japanese Police Force.

Kurosawa sighed. “If only that were really true,” he mused. But today was a special day. It was about an hour past midnight on January 31, 2009, and Paulownia Mall was more packed than he had ever seen, even on those Saturdays when Mandragora stayed open extra-late for guest performers and drunk-to-death single men that found some inexplicable level of pleasure doing lame karaoke.

Tonight, he had issued himself an order to stay off the streets and leave the patrolling to the citizens themselves. Truth was, patrolling would be near impossible. The streets of Iwatodai were jam-packed with citizens, or as Kurosawa liked to call them, “hopeless outcasts,” that saw the events playing outside to be their salvation.

Around midnight, a large tower had appeared where Gekkoukan High School once stood. On the top were a handful of people, and some creatures that couldn’t be identified. Also at the top was a man named Takaya Sakaki, and for some reason, the majority of Port Island-ers thought that he could save them from the madness of life. By killing them, that is.

Or at least that’s what the reports said. Hell, at this point, Kurosawa didn’t care. Earlier tonight he had a line standing outside his Police booth longer than the lines that formed at those garbage pop concerts.

“What’s the big orb in the sky? Will my children be safe? What’s the fastest way off this island? Is the rest of the world seeing this?” And best of all: “Are the people in the streets right? Is this the end?”

All of the questions that Kurosawa had received tonight had made him simultaneously chuckle and roll his eyes. Normally, when supernatural stuff like this occurred on Port Island, Kurosawa received an official report from the Kirijo Group telling him exactly what to say to the people who were insane enough to go to the police when they felt in danger. This time, however, the Kirijo group stayed silent. Because of this, Kurosawa had to make up his own version of sedative, fib-laced words that could put this mob of people to sleep.

“It’s ok. Don’t panic. Go back to your homes. This event has been completely anticipated and government scientists are controlling it as we speak. If you have any further questions, call the government hotline at 0112716677.”

These were the words that Kurosawa settled on, and they worked well on most of the people that tried to file reports. He even rehearsed them in front of the bathroom mirror, doing so countless times until the words were virtually engrained in his mind.

Deep down, Kurosawa knew he was lying to all of these people. Though he didn’t know exactly what was going on, he knew that it had something to do with those kids from S.E.E.S. They seemed like ordinary high school kids, but this officer knew better. The only reason he even bothered selling them weapons was because his job barely payed above minimum wage. It had nothing to do with his conscience, or what he thought was right. But they were up to something and he knew it.

“Six hundred and seventy-one. That’s how many reports I have to sort through. Dear God, the people on this island make me want to go nuts.”

The worst part was that many of the reports sounded like something out of a fairy tale. “A big, magical diamond is heading straight for Earth! Should I try climbing the tower so I can greet the Night Queen at her chariot, or do you think she won’t mind if I greet her from down below?”

Kurosawa wasn’t surprised. He had heard some pretty weird reports in his day. A couple of years back, a middle-aged woman in southern Iwatodai was killed when a drunk driver crashed into her in the residential district. Her little kid was brought in for witness questioning, and most of the people in the station assumed that he could confirm the reports since he was right next to his mom when it was happening.

Instead, the kid threw the entire station a curveball by claiming that his mom was killed by a celestial monster riding a horse. Apparently, said monster emerged from the body of a young man wearing a trench coat, as he was clutching his head in either malice or agony, eventually falling to the floor with a thud.

The whole police station was laughing about this for the next month or so. And here was the best part, something that only Kurosawa knew about: eight days ago, this same kid came to him looking to buy a spear. An imperial spear. This tiny kid who lost a parent at a very young age wanted to buy a spear for some unknown reason. He should have known better than to do business with a potential murderer, but Kurosawa put his money first and his conscience second. And he didn’t regret the decision even the slightest. After all, if the kid really did kill someone in his fit of pre-teen rage, the Kirijo group could be counted on to put their best efforts forward in covering up the whole fiasco.

It's not like they hadn’t done it before. As far as Kurosawa knew, the Kirijo group had only staged one cover-up in the history of the island, and it had been last year. Apparently, a young man wearing a trench coat was shot in the back alley of Port Island station with a .45 caliber revolver.

Wait-no he wasn’t. He died from an overdose on amphetamines. And as far as everyone was concerned, that was the truth.

Funny enough, both the man who had killed Mrs. Amada all those years ago (according to her son, anyway-Kurosawa would temporarily honor the insanity) and the man who  ~~was shot~~ died of overdose last year both matched descriptions pretty well, all the way down to the trench coats they were wearing. Did this make Kurosawa suspicious at all? Well, it should have. But Kurosawa wasn’t getting paid to be suspicious. He was paid to enforce the law, occasionally cover shit up, and sell weapons to high-schoolers. And his conscience was clear.

Anyways, if the people were right about the apocalypse playing out in the streets, the six hundred and seventy-one reports would be the least of Kurosawa’s concerns, and money would take a back-seat for the first time in the man’s life. It was like the Americans always said: “Shit Happens.”

Kurosawa leaned back in his chair and gently placed his name-placard out on the table. He walked up to the door and switched the neon sign from “Closed” to “Open,” and the crowd immediately began to reassemble outside as if they had been there the whole time. The Officer sat back down in his chair, and pretended to look busy as the first man entered and began the train of frantic babbling and storytelling that would eat up the rest of his evening.

“This is going to be a long night.”

 

 


	4. The Leaning Tower

III. The Leaning Tower

Time: 12:00 AM

“What the hell is this?” The queer looking old man was clearly drunk, but the bartender indulged in his insanity anyway. After all, it was what he was being paid to do.

“Sir, you ordered a single malt, straight up, just like you do every night, and that’s what I’ve brought you. So would you be so kind as to tell me-“

“You tryna bullshit me, kid? Listen, I’m a monk. I bullshit people for a living. Now you listen to me. What I have in front of me right now is a single malt with no rocks. _I ordered_ two shots of Johnnie Walker on the rocks. Now tell me kid-do you see any rocks in this glass?”

“Well, no sir, but that’s because…”

“Because nothing! Now go fix this shit up before I fuck up your face just like you fucked up my order.”

Mutatsu wasn’t usually this grumpy, but recent circumstances had been pushing him perilously near the edge. He was just about bankrupt since all of his money was going into Detective Toshi’s pocket.

“The damn fool. I paid her to find my family, but so far it looks like she’s found everything in the world but them.”

It wasn’t until recently that finding his family meant so much to Mutatsu. It was all the doing of that kid. Hell, he was so self-absorbed during their conversations that he never caught the kid’s name. It didn’t matter. He barely said anything anyway, just patiently listened to the ranting.

He chuckled. “I oughta be paying that kid in installments just for putting up with me!”

Between his drunken stupors and raves, Mutatsu had found that he still had space in his heart for his family, assuming they still had space in their hearts for him. He wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t. He had been irresponsible, lazy, mean, arrogant, bad in bed, and, most importantly, a complete asshole. His wife left him, and his son had about as much respect for the old man as the old man had for the monk profession.

In a way, it reminded Mutatsu of the sermons he used to give back at the monastery. People used to pay him to hear him speak. Pay him! The things people did to find peace of mind fascinated him. Most importantly, it made him rich.

But the wealth was only temporary. Every time Mutatsu earned a decent penny, it found its way into his bottomless kegs. As he sat in the top balcony of Club Escapade, biding his time away on an island whose name he no longer even knew, he couldn’t help but feel like he was still making a mistake. This Mysterious Feeling.

If he ever did find his family through that useless detective, Mutatsu still had a huge obstacle in front of him. He would have to rebuild burned bridges, which is arguably the hardest task that a man will ever go through. He had to put his own pride second for once.

“Hell, what am I even going to tell my son? ‘I love you?’ Nah, that’s cheesy and he’s gonna see through it like it was glass. Um…how about, ‘sorry for bein so tough on you as a kid. Now stop getting stoned all the time, alright?’”

The words just didn’t come to him anymore. All he could think about saying to Akira now was to “keep his nose clean,” or “keep up his grades,” or (he liked this one best of all) “keep your faith in religion.”

Religion! HA! Honestly, at this point, Mutatsu was only a monk by title. He had strayed from the Eightfold Path so many times that navigating his religious beliefs was like driving through Hana Highway at midnight with no headlights on. Mutatsu lost his faith in that Path years ago. He loved his family, but the only way he found to show it was narcissism, cynicism, and plain hate.

He gazed up into the heavens. “Gautama, if you’re up there, I swear to God, you better gimme back my family now or I’m gonna-“

His thought was interrupted by a sudden fall from the comfort of his barstool. Looking up from the cold hardwood floor, the old monk suddenly began to realize just how intoxicated he really was.

Anyway, more important than what the coot was going to say to his son was what he would say to his wife. Mutatsu wasn’t a skilled mathematician, but the way he saw it, there was a 99% chance that his wife would slap him across the face if he showed up at her doorstep, and an additional 40% chance that she wouldn’t want him back.

“Hon, I’m sorry I called you frigid. I guess the truth is that it’s annoying when you don’t moan or show any signs of pleasure when I’m shagging- *sigh* never mind.”

He got up from the floor and rubbed his forehead. The fall had left a glaring bump on his forehead that wouldn’t go away without a good pack of ice. And speaking of ice…

“Sir,” the bartender panted, “I’m sorry I was late with your double malt on the rocks, but it’s just that, you’ve gotta see this…”

“Not now, kid. Can’t you see that I’m trying to sort out my personal problems?”

Club Escapade was an oval-shaped building with no inlet for light of any sort. No windows meant that patrons would often stay there for days on end, partying or drinking the night away until they finally got pulled out in either stretchers or handcuffs.

The bartender, frenzied and clearly distraught, continued with his story. “I took a peek outside, and you won’t believe what I just saw.”

Mutatsu was only half-listening at this point. He had picked up his copy of The Midnight Times and resumed his read-through of an article about a religious man who believed that the world was on its way to an end. As a Buddhist monk, and a corrupt one at that, Mutatsu found this to be a completely plausible series of events. If this fiasco had come up a month ago, he would have gotten an early ticket onto the Death train and slit his wrists even before the apocalypse began.

But now, because of that kid and the subsequent Mysterious Feeling, he had other priorities. Mutatsu owed it to himself to find his family before the world came to an end. Looking up from his newspaper, he caught sight of the bartender, still staring down at the monk with wide eyes.

“Yeah, sorry kid. You were saying?”

“It’s the moon. It’s just about doubled in size, and it’s on a collision course straight for Earth. People are also saying something about a couple of kids fighting some monster on the top of this tower. Apparently, the tower is some sort of beacon, and that beacon is what’s causing the moon to start going crazy. It’s just that I don’t know what to do and…”

Mutatsu leaped up suddenly and grabbed the bartender’s shirt with both of his hands

“Siddharta Gautama, kid! What did you just say?”

“Sid who?”

“Never mind. Are you telling me that the world is coming to an end?”

It was exactly what Mutatsu had feared, though up until now, he figured that the probability of any world-ending scenario to be in the low zeroes. Heck, any sane human being would. But this “Takoyaki” kid in the news, he didn’t seem sane at all. After all, he was the one who predicted that this would happen.

And those kids on the Tower-Mutatsu personally knew one of them. He didn’t even have to go outside to know. It was another part of That Mysterious Feeling. No doubt that that blue-haired kid was up there, fighting the good fight, trying his very hardest to save the lives of those that he met and loved. The old monk was suddenly filled with grief. That kid…he had made a difference in Mutatsu’s life. No doubt he had done the same for another person. Maybe even _many_ other people. What the kid didn’t understand was that humanity no longer wanted to be saved. After all, if it did, they wouldn’t be publishing stories in the paper about cult leaders trying to convert everyone to Christian nihilism.

Regardless, Mutatsu knew that he had a job to do. He immediately picked up his phone and dialed the department number for Detective Toshi.

“Hello, I’m trying to speak to Detective—What do you mean the Detectives are unreachable? --- Why yes, I have looked outside--- Look, I get that you’re busy, but can you just connect me to Detective Toshi? ---Alright fine, I’ll hold.

A few minutes passed.

“Hi Detective. Listen, I’ve got something important—Yes, goddamn it, I’ve looked outside my window, why the hell do you --- Look, I just want to know, have you found anything on my family? --- What? Nothing? I ought to ask for a refund on my payment! ---Fine, I know that you’re busy ---Yeah just call me back at this number, it’s 025--“

*click*

And just like that, Mutatsu’s hope of finding his family was in limbo again. If the world really did end tonight, then he would have to say his goodbyes to himself. All he could do now was wait, hope, and maybe pray for a miracle.

And he didn’t need to be a monk to know exactly where to direct his prayers.

Meanwhile, the Club escapade bartender was still standing across from Mutatsu, trembling with fear and muttering inaudibly.

“What if I die…what about my family, my mortgage—I never did pay my bills for this month. Maybe I should call Mama? Or how about Jerry-san from the market? Or Aichi-san from across the street? Oh, no, this isn’t happening. Please, dear God, this isn’t!—“

Mutatsu looked upon the miserable wretch standing in front of him. Trembling body, broken will, lack of hope, general confusion with life. From his seventy-plus years of life experience, Mutatsu knew that there was only one remedy for this particular set of symptoms.

“How about I buy you a drink?”


	5. The Devil's Advocate

IV. The Devil's Advocate

Time: 11:15 PM

“…and if we were to increase television coverage to Inaba and Tokyo, our profits in mainland Japan would increase tenfold. I already have signed reports here from thousands of investors in the area that would pour their funds into our business if they had the chance. Sir, this seems like a fruitful opportunity, and I suggest we take it before the Kirijo Group beats us to the cut.”

Chairwoman Hasegawa stood up. “Mr. Tenshi, I understand your desire to expand this company’s marketing base, but I think I speak for the entire board when I say that we have a more pressing matter to deal with tonight.”

As she finished her words, all eyes in the oval meeting room turned to the man sitting at the very end of the table, in a plush leather seat.

Though he looked like a completely infallible man on the outside, President Tanaka was anything but. As the board continued on with its meeting past midnight, he felt his eyelids droop. Nobody could blame him. He had made this trip to Tokyo to check on his charity, and he definitely hadn’t expected Hasegawa to organize an emergency board meeting while he was there.

Mr. Tenshi seemed eager to advance his case. “Mr. Tanaka, even if-“

“Sorry to interrupt, but that’s _President_ Tanaka to you. And I’m sorry to say this, Mr. Tenshi, but I’ve heard the same babble from you all night. Say we were to expand Tanaka’s Home Commodities to the southern regions of Japan. Did you ever consider the financial risks?”

Mr. Tenshi seemed confused. He had been trying to advance the financial contingencies throughout his hour-long speech. It was mystifying that Tanaka still didn’t see that his marketing plan would account for any losses in liquid assets.

“But sir, I thought I covered that back during-“

Tanaka smiled. “Yes, yes, you thought you covered it all, didn’t you? Well kid, there’s a reason why I run this company and you young folks don’t.” Tanaka threw tonight’s edition of The Nippon Times on to the table. “If you stayed updated with your current events, you would realize that the government of Japan just past an excise tax pertaining to all phone-based television orders in Southern Japan. The reason? There’s so much traffic there already from the Nanjo group that the government is looking to profit a bit too.”

Tanaka continued. “So let me ask you something. Why would I put my own profits on the line by letting the taxes eat me away when the same thing is going to happen to Nanjo regardless of what we do? Let it be their problem for a change. I’m not interested in giving 30% of my earnings to the government. Are you, Mr. Tenshi?”

Mr. Tenshi stood there, mouth hanging open. Clearly, his MBA from Harvard wasn’t enough to prepare him for the competitive Japanese business landscape. He bowed his head in shame, realizing that Tanaka had taken out his hour-long proposition in less than a minute.

“Young people,” Tanaka thought to himself. “They never learn. And even when they have learned, they are still only interested in advancing their own agendas. A company stands no chance of success if every employee in the world pursued their own benefits and not those of the company. Heck, look at what happened to the folks over at Enron!”

In thinking this, Tanaka knew he was being hypocritical. Until very recently, his own interests had been highly self-centered, and he aggressively expanded Tanaka’s Home Commodities to every corner of Japan. While profits continued to skyrocket, Tanaka soon realized that he wasn’t receiving the satisfaction that he once used to. Money was…trivial. It took a young man to teach him how to get over this feeling.

Tanaka had met his little friend-no, he wasn’t really a friend. Businessmen like Tanaka didn’t have friends, just assets. He had met the _asset_ in Paulownia Mall. At first, he made a good 10,000 yen scamming the poor soul. It made him feel amazing. But over time, as Tanaka repeatedly tried to drag the boy’s interests into the corporate world, he realized that he was doing himself a disservice. Why invest his nights into grooming one specific young man when he could expand to a thousand?

A thousand boys, sixteen years and older, and none of them bearing the egocentric qualities that ate at his business like caterpillars at a mulberry leaf. That was Tanaka’s dream. It sounded stupid to the man at the time, but he soon found an avenue to indirectly make his dream come true.

They were known as The South Japan Charity for Growing Young Men. It took considerable research for Tanaka to find them, but then again, what was R&D for if not that? He contacted the agency and signed off on a donation for 10 million yen. It was the most difficult thing he had ever done, but something about that blue haired kid-his innocence, maybe-had driven him into this course of action.

Tanaka was surprised to learn that his donation was more than the organization received in a financial year. As emotionally solid as Tanaka was, this was an unsettling statistic. He took some time out of his schedule in early January to tour the charity’s campus. At their schooling department, he met children that had truly incredible abilities. For instance, he met a fourteen-year-old that had mastered distance calculus, but didn’t have the money to buy decent clothes. He met a child that knew everything about the stock exchange, but didn’t have a cent to invest.

These revelations led to a steady stream of donations from Tanaka Industries to The South Japan Charity for Growing Men. While he was there, Tanaka gave the headmistress a little piece of advice he had learned through years of business operation:

“Long names never attract investors. Pick something shorter and more meaningful so that potential donators will attract quickly.”

The headmistress had a bit of a knack for business, and agreed with the suggestion. By the next day, the institution’s name was promptly changed to “Jika Net Tanaka Institution.”

Tanaka always smiled at this thought. Money was unable to satisfy him any longer, but he had finally found the one thing that could: fame. Not just fame, but the idea of being an influence to others. Inside that institution, there were hundreds of boys who looked up to Tanaka, were funded by Tanaka, aimed to work for Tanaka, and even aimed to _be_ Tanaka. Though he felt selfish for thinking of himself in this manner, for the first time in his life, Tanaka had felt…useful. As if his life would have an impact on other people, perhaps to one day be his business partners or follow in his footsteps, and maybe succeed his position when he retired. It would be like…an Army of Tanakas. And that was a warm and splendid thought indeed.

“Do you agree, President? President Tanaka? President, sir, are you okay?”

The voice of Hasegawa roused Tanaka from his daze. He looked up suddenly, confused. A group of board members began sniggering in the back, enthralled after seeing Tanaka caught off guard for possibly the first time in his career.

Tanaka adjusted his spectacles, and immediately donned his air of businesslike austerity. “Sorry, Madam. It’s been a long day, and I’ve had a lot to think about. Now then, what was the question?”

The Chairwoman was momentarily caught off guard. This was the first time that she had ever heard her ruthless employer apologize to anyone. But then again, this evening was proving to be a night full of firsts.

“I…I was just asking you how you wanted to respond to the situation outside. From what we can gather, it’s some sort of astronomical anomaly. It seems to be centered in Iwatodai, east of the company headquarters, but is visible to the entire world. Scientists are clueless as to what it is, but religious extremists around the world are calling it the End of the World. As we speak, millions of citizens in Iwatodai are gathered out on Moonlight Bridge waiting for…”

“Waiting for what, Hasegawa?”

“…Death, I guess. It doesn’t seem to make any sense. It’s as if everyone has submitted themselves, given up in a way.”

Hasegawa and the others were mystified by this behavior. Though they were not anthropologists, most could easily see this as abnormal. It was in human instinct to fight for survival. To embrace death was, to say the least, counterintuitive.

But Tanaka understood, and even empathized with them. He knew what many of those citizens were feeling, and he didn’t blame them for falling at the feet of these so-called “extremists.”

But that didn’t mean he agreed with them, either.

Tanaka turned his attention back to the Board of Directors. “So how is this apocalypse scenario expected to play out? Is the world supposedly going to come to an end in a fiery apocalypse? Or is everyone suddenly going to collapse or something like that?”

The board was initially silent. “We don’t know yet, sir.” The voice came from Tenshi, who seemed to have regained his color and honor. “Some reports are saying that the moon is moving dangerously close to the Earth at a rapid speed. From my calculations (‘I was a physics minor at Harvard,’ he had boasted before the meeting), it is possible that the moon could collide with the Earth.”

Tanaka’s eyes widened. It almost sounded too crazy to be true.

“And everyone on this planet is going to die? Is that the possibility?”

“Well, not necessarily, sir. It is entirely possible that there could be survivors from this incident. Rest assured, there won’t be many, based on the speed at which the moon is currently moving and how big it is.”

The President leaned back in his chair. There were multiple ways that Tanaka industries stood to profit from this event, even if the Board only had a few short moments left to life. On one hand, Tanaka vied to mass-produce stories and reports exaggerating the event in a twisted form of Yellow Journalism. He could create a new branch of Tanaka Industries: Tanaka Nightly News! _Delivering you the stories you need, right when you need them._

The profits would be humongous. People would flock for the papers like vultures to a carcass, just as they had done when the extremists had made the cover of Nippon News Media’s monthly magazine. And Tanaka would be rich. Richer than he could ever dream of. Clearly, this was the logical choice of any businessman as seasoned as he was.

But Tanaka was more than just a businessman. And he had a better idea in his sleeve.

“Tenshi, I want you to organize a relief effort for the population in case this apocalypse plays out. Use all of the products that Tanaka’s Home Commodities hasn’t been able to sell: Super Blankets, Water Bottles, Instant Noodles, Gas Canisters, Disposable Stoves, anything that you can find. Get to work mass-producing them, and organize an effort to get them passed out to the citizens of Iwatodai, starting with those on Moonlight Bridge. Once you’ve finished with that, start branching out to all of Japan, and then make connections with other companies across the world.” He gestured to the rest of the board. “Use all of your resources wisely, and remember that time is not on that side. Everyone got that?”

The whole board was silent. Amidst the silence, only Chairwoman Hasegawa had the courage to speak up.

“But sir, why…” Her sentence trailed off into thin air.

“Let me guess,” Tanaka replied. “You’re surprised to see your miserly President squandering away millions on a relief effort that will probably organized eventually anyway. Moreover, you’re surprised by my sudden generosity, am I correct?”

Hasegawa gave a slight nod. It seemed to her that Tanaka was full of surprises.

“Well, let’s reason through this logically,” he started. “If Tanaka Industries’ name were to be on every relief product passed out in Japan, all of the people would know that, in the event of an apocalypse, the organization that saved them was Tanaka Industries. They’ll know that it was President Tanaka, not the Japanese government, that came to their aid first. Everyone will look up to me-I mean, us, and Tanaka Industries would be at the center of the stock market.” He looked around the room, only to see a bunch of open mouths and plaque-coated teeth. “I know what you all are thinking. ‘Who is this genius who is sitting before us today?’ Well, he’s your President. President Tanaka. Now get to work, all of you, especially you, Tenshi. This meeting is adjourned.”

The Board began to scatter frantically. Tanaka smiled to himself. They clearly hadn’t expected this, but Tanaka Industries was always full of surprises. As he mused to himself, looking out the large glass window at the strange spectacle in the sky, he heard Mr. Tenshi’s footsteps approaching his direction.

“Mr. President, sir? Does…does this mean you’re promoting me?”

Tanaka turned to face Tenshi with his cold, grey eyes. “You young people always view things through promotion and demotion. How about we just call this “doing the right thing,’ for a change? Now get to work before I change my mind!”

“Yes boss, right away!”

Tenshi scampered off, cellphone in hand, bursting with new confidence. Tanaka smiled. For the second time in his life, he felt more like a mentor than a businessman. Laughing at his own naivety, he turned back to gaze out the window of his conference room.


	6. Want to See a Magic Trick?

V. Want to See a Magic Trick?

Time: 10:30 PM

 “Oh yes, oh yeah, that’s right. Come on. Ahh. Ahhh. AHHHH”

Kenji’s body was coursing with adrenaline as he neared the point of no return. He did a quick spot check to make sure everything was in working order. His right hand was moving vigorously up-and-down, building up tension for the wonderful sensation he would feel any second now. His left hand was grasping his phone, tilted at a slight angle, and his eyes were locked onto the phone like a torpedo onto an aircraft carrier. If he were to somehow lose grip, his phone would plummet to the depths of the toilet and his treasure trove of pornography would be lost forever.

He had picked the perfect video for today, he thought. None of the dull fetishes he once had. This, on the screen, was pure bondage. Kenji’s heart began to race even faster.

“Come on. Oh yeah, yeah that’s it. Yeah, suck on it, just like that. Oh… Oh, I think I’m gonna…”

“YES, YES, YES!”

And as he repeated those words, under his breath but nevertheless quite loudly, he hit his climax. Though he had experienced the sensation numerous times before, the feeling still felt new, and enriching. It was if he was a pirate, and his ship had crashed into an island made of gold.

In a way, he, too, was digging for gold.

Liquid gold, to be more precise. It came out in spurts. One, two, three, then a smaller four. Like a tapped oil well will the drill bit still lodged deep inside.

Adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin were pouring into his synapses and coursing through his veins. Kenji’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he collapsed in a mixture of exhaustion and pleasure.

Eyes still trained on the video (Kenji liked to savor the aftershock as well), Kenji reached with his hand to the toilet paper holder, groping and pulling away at a couple of quilted squares.

Hm. Odd. His right hand was empty, albeit runny with liquid.

Let’s try that again. Eyes still trained on the video, Kenji reached with his hand for the toilet paper.

Again, nothing. Kenji took his eyes off the video, inadvertently missing his favorite part. He turned to his right and saw an empty toilet paper holder.

“Fuck,” he said to himself. It was his job to make sure they didn’t run low, and to tell Mother if they did. Now Kenji sat there, on the commode, feeling like a complete loser.

It was the worst feeling that any postpubescent, sexually frustrated adolescent could feel. There he sat, his neurons no longer pounding with good-feeling chemicals, cold, wet, soft, disgusted with himself, and even a bit embarrassed, even though the door was bolted shut. Looking at the video in his left hand, he now felt disgust and revulsion compared to the pleasure of before. Funny how perception completely changed, all based on the state of his mind.

It was becoming a natural habit for the boys on Iwatodai, this routine of theirs, and even for all the boys in mainland Japan. Since technology was more readily available, they dedicated one or two days out of the week to go to a secluded place (not always a bathroom-they also preferred their beds) and—to put it quite bluntly—“Milk themselves.”

Kenji was an anomaly. He had built up a tolerance for the chemical cocktail over the past many years, so his self-prescribed dosage was “twice a day.” His friends often criticized him for this. “Are you trying to disgrace the honor of your family? What, are you queer or something? You are into all that kinky stuff, now, aren’t you? You’re messed up, man?”

Of course, Kenji was no sitting duck, and the only way he saw to dishonor himself was to lie down and take his friends’ bullets. He found justification for his habits in a book that he once saw his father reading. He was very young at the time. He remembered leafing through the yellowed, creamy pages with his stubby fingers, observing the serifs on each letter in every page. It was like a Bible, even though Kenji could barely read it. Just like a Bible, though, it was incredibly long, and thick, too.

One night, when he was rummaging through the pages, eyes peeled in curiosity, he came across an interesting line:

“In the medieval times, pagan worshippers saw the sexual orgasm as a conduit to talk to God, himself. Their rituals often involved some form of copulation to put themselves closer to God for the brief seconds of pleasure.”

Kenji no longer remembered the name of the book, but these sentences became a mantra, engrained in his head. Whenever he tried masturbation in a stall at school, and someone he knew jokingly knocked and asked what he was doing, his reply would always be the same:

“I’m talking to God, how about you?”

His family was strictly Shinto, too, so godliness made sense to him. Though, from a logical standpoint, he doubted that Amaterasu would respect his “twice-daily” schedule.

Now, sitting on that porcelain seat, Kenji’s mind began to wander.

“Damn, it’s been a hell of a long year, hasn’t it? We’ve been through quite a bit though, wouldn’t you say?” This last line he said while patting his penis.

It had indeed been an eventful year, and it was nowhere near over.

“I’ve made many new friends, failed many tests, met new women-what could have been better than that?”

Out of all the students at Gekkoukan High, Kenji was the only one who could say “women,” as opposed to simply “girls.” And that was because it was basically true. Kenji thrust his nose into the air, like a vain circus lion. He was too good for these high school girls. He desired a woman with more… just more. More intelligence, more wisdom, more…assets. And he had gotten just that.

Emiri. Or Mrs. Kanou, as he ought to address her, now that their relationship was over. He could have sworn that the dashing teacher was flirting with him all year. Inviting him home for “extra help” with his studies. And…other social cues that he had read throughout the year. It was a shame that he had misread them.

He though back to Emiri now. Her large, luscious curves. Her picturesque face. Her protruding yet proportionate bosom (though the rumors said that she padded them). And best of all, her shapely and rounded bottom. Kenji was a good observer. He liked comparing himself to a bird watcher. He had studied her dimensions better than a dressmaker.

It was more than just her appearance, though. Emiri was very smart, and Kenji’s grades had skyrocketed from just a few days of special tutoring. She had also taught him to be more mindful of the future. Because of this, Kenji began to take up more hobbies. He started teaching himself to play the guitar (the only instrument that wouldn’t either make him look like a girl or a nerd) and got a job at Wild-Duck Burger, to prepare himself for the future. She had taught him a lot.

Too bad that it was too good to be true. Emiri had actually been engaged to a dashing young man from mainland Japan, and this and growing rumors in the school about the “relationship” between her and Kenji forced her to transfer out of the school. Kenji cried hard that day, not just because he had loved her and she hadn’t loved him back, but also because he felt guilty. Guilty that he had been one of her reasons for leaving. And that would never change, no matter how long he spent locked up in the bathroom.

Kenji probably wouldn’t have gotten through that time if it weren’t for Minato. The boy with the blue hair, as Kenji had referred to him for most of the year. The kid barely talked at all. It was like he was completely sterile from emotions and pleasure. And yet, somehow, he had been in relationships with every attractive girl in their grade. Even Yukari Takeba, and Kenji knew from Junpei Iori that she was a tough nut to crack.

It wasn’t like Minato was apathetic, though. He had an air of silent understanding. He listened a lot, and the stuff he said, for whatever reason, seemed to be exactly what Kenji saw himself doing in that position.

Even though most of the people in his class saw Kenji as a fool, a class clown, a magician with cheap tricks for his audience, Kenji wanted to prove that he was better than that. Too bad he only had a few short months of school left. Even though he was at the bottom of his class during every final exam, he was actually very intelligent. In fact, Ms. Toriumi only caught him sleeping in class because he’d learned all of the material beforehand, through the internet.

So why did he act like such an imbecile? Why did he pretend to be dumber than he was? That was a question even Kenji himself could not answer. Maybe it was to fit in with the other class clowns. Maybe it was to live up to everyone’s expectations of him. Either way, Kenji planned to change that come finals next year. He’d been studying hard, and his aim was to be the class topper. The New Minatoru, they’d call him. Those that knew him better might also call him The New Minato.

He liked that idea. The idea of being a new man. It tantalized Kenji, washed over his senses like a caustic soda. It felt like a prank to him, because in a way, it really was. His last hurrah. His greatest magic trick yet. And all the other seniors would be caught completely off guard.

Kenji jumped in his seat when he heard a sharp rapping at the wooden door. He collected himself and managed a few words. “Who…who is it?”

A surly voice rang back at him. It was a voice that he sometimes hated, and other times liked. The voice of his older sister, Rio.

“So, Kenji ya done with your 30-minute bathroom break yet?”

“Oh, come on! I’m-“

“Oh wait, wait, don’t tell me, I can guess your excuse already. ‘I have diarrhea! It was the ramen, I bet!’”

She was really enjoying this. Kenji had always been that one brother that she could always annoy, and she took advantage of it thoroughly.

Funny enough, that was the excuse Kenji was thinking of using. It usually threw his mom off his back for a few minutes and let him wrap up his video. “N-No, that’s not what I was going to say…” His voice trailed off.

Behind the door, Rio was just about dying with laughter. “Oh, come on, Kenji! Cut the act! You think I don’t know what you’re really doing back there. I’ve been with men before, and I know what their needs are!”

Most people wouldn’t believe such a remark from their siblings, but Kenji knew better. Rio was just finishing up with her third boyfriend, and their relationship had just hit the rocks, too. It was a shame, though. “Her boyfriend is a lucky man,” Kenji thought to himself, “Lucky enough to have such a hot girl-“

No. He was going to stop himself there. This was getting queerer than he had bargained for. He turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“You don’t, huh? You know, you’re not the only one who clears your search history, you know? You’re lucky you have such an experienced sister to tell you the loopholes you can use to go through deleted history.” She picked up her phone, and opened up the gallery.

Kenji was prickling in fear. If she talked any louder, his mon would hear, and he’d be done for. “Rio, don’t do this, don’t-“

“Now, let’s see, shall we? Yesterday, during your second “bathroom break,” you decided to tease your fetish for older women. The title? ‘Cougar MILF-‘”

“Rio, shut the hell up! If you know men so well, you should know not to piss them off!”

On the other side of the locked door, Rio was almost in tears with laughter.

“What do you want me to come out for, anyway? Does mom want to see me?”

Rio collected herself, and her mood changed drastically. “No, actually. There’s something you should see. Outside. Something’s happening. We’re packing the car now. They’re telling everyone to head down South, so Dad’s booked us a charter plane for Iwo Jima.”

“Rio, is this some kind of prank? What’s going on out there, really?”

“Just shut the hell up and listen to me, ok? There’s this huge tower, right? And the moon, it’s GREEN. Like nothing we’ve ever seen before. You’ve gotta come and see it for yourself.”

Kenji’s hand was almost on his forehead. Rio had really lost it this time. Nevertheless, he owed it to her to come outside. “Alright, fine, I’m coming. Just give me a sec to…clean up.”

Rio’s spirits were lifted again as she remembered the second part of her prank. “Oh, but you can’t now, can you? You’re missing something, I gather? Let me guess…the…toilet paper?”  


“Ok, what the hell? Seriously, you took the toilet paper? The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Hey, calm down, child. Don’t use that language with your sister. When I saw that lump in your pants when you were walking around upstairs, I knew you were about to make a beeline for the bathroom. So…I came in first, and swiped the toilet paper.”

Not only was Kenji mad now, he was also feeling…sticky. He’d been sitting there for some time now, after all, and nature was running its course. He sighed in resignation “Alright, I’m gonna open the door a bit, just slide it in here.”

“All right, stud, here ya go.”

They did their exchange, and Kenji began to clean himself up. And as he did, he couldn’t help but think to himself.

_Isn’t there more to life than this?_

Nobody else knew, but it ate at him, this little routine of his. His playing dumb, his openness about his sexual activity, the act he put on that he was a clown. Maybe someday, Kenji thought, he would change for the better. But until then, he would stick with the bathroom breaks and gawking. He had learned from the best, after all, and Minato would hate to see him waste his “talent.”

Temporarily satisfied with himself, Kenji washed his hands, taking care to look at his gallant face in the mirror, and walked out briskly.

“Now, what was it you wanted to show me?”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Tightened Noose

VI. Tightened Noose

Time: 12:59 PM?

“…”

“……”

“………….fwoosh.”

Maiko lay in bed, observing the contents of her room. She was focused on a piece of paper hanging off of her small, pink desk. She didn’t remember what was on it-probably something she had drawn for Mommy. The wind from the fan was blowing on it in small gusts. Her eyes drifted past it as it fluttered there in the wind: moving, but barely so.

She needn’t have looked at the clock to have known that it was far past her bedtime. Maiko rarely checked the clock to begin with-the oblong one hanging on her wall was analog, and trying to read the secret message encoded in the thin, sheet-metal hands was far too demanding for a preschooler, even one that was already attending cram school.

Instead, she kept track of time on these long nights by staring into the sky. There, in the northwest corner of the sky, just like every night, was her favorite star. She had been keeping track of it for years now, observing its movements to the point where she could pinpoint exactly how long it had been past her bedtime. She and her father had found it once with his ornate telescope.

Now, neither he nor the telescope were in the same house as she.

Today, she estimated it to be something like 4 hours past 8:00 PM—the time that her mother expected her to be falling asleep.

It was at night that Maiko felt the loneliest. Back when her parents still lived under the same roof, these nights would have shouting and verbal abuse lingering in the air. Maiko would lie there, trembling, trying to fall asleep amidst the chaos outside as if it were a lullaby. She was so used to it that it basically was, at one point.

Whenever she tried to intervene in the debacles, she often left with tears. She could still hear her mother’s searing remarks, echoing behind a grisly wall of grown-up tears.

“It’s you! You’re the reason for this, you know! It’s your fault we can’t make this work, yours! Get…get out of my sight!”

Maiko dreaded every minute of those nights, and figured that she would be happy when the warring forces would leave her family. It wasn’t like she had expected, unfortunately. Now that there was no sound, the night felt…quiet. _Too_ quiet. It felt as if it were no longer human. As if the peace was artificial, like a glass wall that could fall at the slightest touch. A lion has trouble sleeping in the zoo because it can no longer hear the sounds of its comrades roaring in unison.

Maiko rolled around in her twin-size bed. She needed to do something fast or her brain would burn itself out in boredom. She looked up at the clock, and strained to read its cryptic hands in the pitch-blackness of the room.

“12…Sixty…-No, that isn’t right. One, fifty, um…-wait no, I was right before. Twelve fifty…nine? Yeah, Twelve fifty-nine!”

Maiko stared at the clock, feeling warm success on her skin. She watched the second hand as it stood there, still as a spider, itching to move but clearly not able.

Strange. Did the clock run out of batteries? _No, Mommy had replaced them last week. We even had to borrow that ladder from Mr. Santanata_.

Her curiosity was piqued, now. She looked at that clock, waiting for the second hand to leave its comfortable position in the fifty-ninth second. To her juvenile mind, it was being interrupted while in the middle of the climax of her favorite TV show. It robbed her of a sanctity, a continuity, that she felt she was entitled to on long nights such as these.

Maiko missed her father greatly. When the divorce had come, she knew that staying with her mother was the right thing to do. They had never gotten along as well as she and her father, but her mother was emotionally unstable and needed all the support that Maiko could offer. It was a lot to take in for a girl as young as she was.

She didn’t fit in too well at her new school, either. She was the only preschooler to attend cram school, it seemed, and was ostracized almost immediately for her overt kindness and innocence. It was as if the people in Inaba had accepted some sort of dark reality in this world that Maiko hadn’t yet grown in to.

She remembered how she had felt that day: extremely nervous, trembling in fear, and grasping at her mother’s palm with a desperation that hadn’t entered her mind before. She had been to school multiple times, but that time had felt different. In the past, it was _dad_ who had walked with her to the front gate of the school. It was he who packed her lunch every morning-sashimi, with just a dab of diluted wasabi.

Maiko had made a couple of mistakes that day, to the chagrin of her mother, teacher, and fellow students. Taking pride in her “committed” status, she had let every child in her class know that she was engaged to a high-schooler before lunch period.

“He’s so handsome. He’s tall, friendly, and has long hair that creeps up on the front of his head like a worm-no, not a disgusting worm! A nice one!”

She then proceeded to widen her eyes with childish innocence and bashfulness, continuing:

“One day, we’re going to get _married._ Isn’t it exciting! I’ll be wearing a long, white dress with a train longer than Moonlight Bridge! I’ll have a princess tiara on my head, and it’ll have these pink jewels, the kind that are on my dollhouse.”

Her voice began to deepen with anticipation and suspense as she went on:

“And then, when we’re both standing at the altar, he’ll hold me in his arms, and he’ll…

“He’ll…”

_Kiss me_. But the words didn’t come out of her mouth as all the other children began to burst out laughing.

“You’re so stupid, Maiko. Oh wait! Lemme guess what happens next. You…wake up! And realize that it was just a dream! And then cry about it like a _wittle baby_!”

“Oh, what’s the matter, _dear Maiko?_ Afraid he’s gonna dump you at the altar? Even if he did exist, there’s no way he’d want some trash like you! My mommy said that your mommy and daddy are insane, and that they couldn’t even stay together. Is that what’s going to happen to you two?”

Soon, the whole playground was full of a chorus of voices:

“Maiko and long-hair, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

So she ran. She ran and ran and ran, and kept running until there was nowhere else for her to run.

The trouble with being young is that, if you try to run, you eventually get caught. As with most aspects of life, this is something that doesn’t apply to adults. They have a liberty that they fervently reserve for themselves.

When they found her, she was sitting at the docks, her feet hanging over the edge of the pier. Her tears made ripples in the crystalline water. “ _They’re wrong,”_ she thought to herself. “ _They’ll see. I’ll show them. I’ll have the wedding right in the middle of class, so everyone can see how handsome he is, and be jealous of how beautiful I am!”_

That night, Maiko had received the most severe spanking of her life. Her mother hadn’t been happy, obviously, that she was skipping on the first day of school. And Maiko had been taught better than to publicly dishonor her family by announcing her engagement to some street scoundrel. The Oohashis (or two-thirds of them, anyway) were the laughing stock of Inaba for the next few months.

Back in her bedroom, Maiko was sobbing. She had lost so many people in her life. Her father. Her friends. Her groom. All she had left was her mother, and there was no way she would let anyone take that away from her.

It choked her, this feeling of loss. Many days, Maiko felt hopeless. She felt the noose tightening around her neck the more she thought about them. The more she thought about how her mother hated her. The more she thought about how she could never make her happy. And there stood Death in the corner, his hand on the lever that controlled the platform, laughing in some distorted mirth that only he could make sense of.

And then-“snap!” The platform would fall from under her, and she would dangle there, like a candy cane on a Christmas tree, as six somber years of life played across her eyes for the last time.

If there was anything her groom-to-be had taught her in those last few hours, it was that she could not be the perfect person she wanted to be, no matter how hard she tried.

_She was something better._

Unlike many people in the world, her bonds with others would not come to define her; instead, she would define others by bonding with them, and make them whole again. She would bring back the innocence they had lost, or had locked away. She was the cornerstone in their existence. One misstep, and they could die from losing their hearts, their souls. Withering away in despair as Maiko stood by, powerless to correct her mistakes.

Pretty steep responsibility for a six-year-old.

Tears slowly drying on her eyes, Maiko glanced back up at the clock dangling above the window.

_Still 12:59._

There was some bright light outside the window, but she didn’t have the energy to get up and check what it was. Most likely, it was the gas station staying open after hours. Or the elderly convenience store owner had forgotten to shut off the beacon lights.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

“May I come in?” It was her mother. She had never asked Maiko for permission to do anything before, so she caught her daughter severely off-guard.

“Um…Sure?” Maiko knew that her mother was trying to trick her. In a few seconds she would be hoisted out of her bed and chastised for staying up past her bedtime.

Not this time apparently.

Mrs. Oohashi stumbled into the room, lacking the austere grace that defined her during the waking hours. Maiko looked at her faced and immediately deduced that something was wrong.

“Mama, have you been crying?”

“No, sweetheart.” She briskly began wiping the tears from her eyes, attempting in vain to compose herself. “Mama just couldn’t sleep. Do you mind if I sit here with you?”

“No, go ahead.” She sat up in her miniscule bed and made room for her mother.

They sat there in an awkward silence. This was the same silence that usually gripped the house when Maiko returned from school every afternoon. Another one of the things that was choking her. Some people just…didn’t gel together, and Maiko and her mother fit the part perfectly.

Maiko was the first to speak. “I think the clock on the wall’s broken. See, the minute hand is stuck at fifty-nine.” She beamed up at her mother, hoping for some recognition. “ I learned that all by myself at school. See, I’m getting better.”

Mrs. Oohashi mustered a smile. “That’s nice, dear.”

“What time is it, really?”

Mothers are smart enough to know when their child has figured out that something isn’t right. It was like the human sixth sense, and Mrs. Oohashi was a prominent user.

“It’s…I don’t know, honey. You see…something is happening…outside. And for the first time in her life, Mommy doesn’t know what to do. It’s something they never taught her to deal with back at Mommy School.”

Maiko felt her cue. “It’s ok, Mommy. There’s some things we just gotta learn by ourselves. Like how I learned all by myself to see the time!”

“I suppose you’re right dear.”

A short silence followed.

“I know that…it hasn’t been easy for you. Ever since we moved away from Daddy. And well, I know that you love him more than you love me. There’s no need to deny it. It’s not your fault, anyway. I’ve been a bad Mommy to you. I didn’t love it when you needed me the most, and… I’m sorry.”

Tears began to streak across Maiko’s princess bedspread, but for the first time that night they weren’t hers. “It’s ok, Mommy. I wasn’t a good Maiko to you, either. But you know, you’re wrong. You haven’t been a bad Mommy to me. You’ve given me more than I could’ve ever asked for. You’ve done more for me than I could imagine doing for you. I’m so sorry…so sorry…”

“Oh child, come here!”

The mother and daughter wrapped each other in a hug for the first time since Maiko’s fourth birthday. That was almost two years ago, and it was shortly before Mrs. Oohashi had uncovered her husband’s infidelity. But now, after all these, years, she had learned to forgive. _Relearned_ was probably a better word. And her teacher had been none other than Maiko, her own daughter. How much prouder could a mother be?

And there they sat, in the middle of a small, two bedroom flat, which was in the middle of a bustling city, which was situated near the heart of Japan, which itself was potentially minutes away from destruction. Both of them knew at this point. It was the kind of message that did not require words to convey. And yet, there was no place they would rather be.

Suddenly, the doorknob began to rattle. A familiar, but forgotten voice could be heard struggling with the lock, attempting to force his way into an apartment so he could get a final glimpse of the ones he loved. And Maiko knew that, for the first time in forever, there would be a new member joining the embrace.

“Daddy!”

**Author's Note:**

> ...and you've reached the end of what I have to offer. Let me know what you think in the comments, and check back occasionally to see the latest chapter that I have written. Arigato!


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